


To Be With You

by anachronously



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anachronously/pseuds/anachronously
Summary: This is the tale of the Dragonborn; specifically, how she fell in love, built a family.. and spit in the very face of Time to take them back from the hands of Death. Skyrim fic, female Bosmer DragonbornxFarkas pairing. Character death within.





	1. Chapter One

Bosmer were frowned upon, in this frigid northern land of Skyrim; the people she passed on her way through Riverwood, and along the road to Whiterun, had avoided her as though she bore an illness. But when she had stumbled headlong into an unexpected fray, three Nords battling a long-limbed, grunting Giant, the fighters had barely spared her a glance. They had only laughed as she clumsily swung her axe, the hardy iron biting into the lumbering creature's flesh as she ducked beneath the huge arcs of its crude club. When finally it collapsed in death, she wobbled only slightly, then braced her legs and stuffed the axe into the loop of leather at her hip, dark eyes leveling a questioning look at the warriors - two women and a man - who stood before her.

Immediately, his appearance struck her; he was so.. so..  _not_  a Mer. He was bulky, more muscled than males of her kind were, not uncommon for a Nord, and the pale skin of his broad jaw was covered with coarse stubble. But it was something about his eyes, surrounded by darkened flesh, strikingly light-colored, yet carrying a burden she knew not of, that seemed to draw her. He was silent, not speaking a word as one of his female companions boasted of the prowess of those she called family - The Companions, they were, their home made at the mead hall of Jorrvaskr, in the city of Whiterun.

For the first time since leaving Riverwood, Emara spoke, her quiet voice different from that of the other woman's in every way. "Perhaps I will see you there." Although the words were spoken to the woman, hardly had they left her lips before her gaze darted to the man. He gazed at her coolly, but spoke not a word, simply followed his compatriots as they departed the scene of the battle.

She watched them go, then ventured toward the nearby river, lifting the dented iron helm from her head and setting it atop a nearby rock as she knelt. Her gauntlets were similarly removed, fingers flexing to dispel the unfamiliar ache of gripping the wooden haft of her new weapon, then ruffled her dark hair, matted with sweat, and cupped her hands in the water before her. Splashing the cool liquid on her face, she stared into the rapids, wondering why the image of him returned to her mind. For several long moments, she did little more than half-crouch there, bewildered at herself. Males had held little interest for her, in her homeland of Valenwood; they were strange, confusing creatures, trying to woo her with trinkets and pretty words, quick to anger when she refused their advances. Was that, then, why this quiet Nord had so stuck out in her mind?

It was of little consequence. She shrugged the thought aside, and shook the water from her hands, before quickly tugging her simple armor back on. The most important thing right now was that she see this Jarl, whatever that was, and then she could be on her way. Her reasons for coming to Skyrim, which once felt so vital, were.. somehow lesser, after being arrested simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and surviving a dragon attack. She decided, as she talked her way past the guards and moved quickly through the streets, that she would give her news to the Jarl and be on her way back to Valenwood.

As she passed the mead hall, she told herself that she didn't glance at it, and wouldn't go inside.

 

* * *

 

 

That resolve lasted all of two days.

There would be no return to Valenwood. There would be no departure from these cold northern lands. The soul of the Dragon had bubbled within her, an unwanted, uncomfortable vitality that left a bizarre taste on her tongue - something like ash and cold air. And that was nothing when compared to the Shout. She could still feel it, days after the first, and only, time she had used it; an unnatural power that fought its way up out of her lungs, conquered her throat, and erupted from her mouth with a life all its own.

Even worse was the way the guards, the citizens, of Whiterun now looked at her - a mix of awe and fear; unable to believe the mythical Dragonborn, even as they looked like they expected her to follow in the footsteps of the infamous rebel king Ulfric and Shout them all into little more than body parts. Their gazes hounded her, seemed to follow her into the meager safety of her new house. More like a cage, it was; they loitered outside, trying to be inconspicuous, but scattered like rats whenever she opened her door.

It was too much. All she wanted was to be alone. But part of her balked at the thought of venturing beyond the city's walls, rebelling at the mere notion of being ordered about by these Greybeards the Jarl spoke of so reverently. She would go to their blasted snowy mountain when she was good and ready, and not a moment before. But she was restless; she bristled as she roamed the streets, casting hard looks at every person who so much as glanced her way, until finally, she sought refuge in the one place she had sworn she wouldn't go.

Jorrvaskr was not remotely similar to anything she was accustomed to. It was enclosed, but for all its confining walls, it seemed spacious; the warmth of the fire was a welcome respite from the perpetually chilled air outside, and not overbearing; the clutter which abounded on every flat surface was somehow organized, and fit the atmosphere perfectly; the noise of conversation and friendly sparring was a comfort, and not the annoyance she'd always thought such a thing would be. Said conversation and sparring came to an abrupt halt as the door swung shut behind her, the resounding impact of wood against wood acting almost as some kind of signal. All eyes turned to her.

"So, Bosmer.. you have decided to venture inside our humble hall after all." It was the woman from the field; she approached Emara with a swagger that the Mer was coming to identify as a measure of her confidence, and not the drunkenness she had first assumed. Her pale eyes stood out from the green slashes of warpaint across her features, their cold gleam clearly sweeping the Mer from head to foot, before a grin broke out on her lips, and she turned to her comrades with a laugh. "This is the one I told you lot about - she hardly knew how to hold that axe she bears, but she swung it at that Giant as though she were twice her size."

The murmur of speech was much quieter, this time, but it resumed; they were clearly discussing her, and Emara shifted beneath the seeming inspection, only to jump in startled surprise as the woman slung a casual arm about her shoulders. "I am Aela the Huntress, and I welcome you to Jorrvaskr. What is your name, Bosmer?"

She hesitated before replying, unsure why she suddenly felt so hot inside her armor; it had little to do with the fire, and everything to do with a sudden itching in her spine. "..Emara."

"A woman of few words. You will get along well with Farkas, I think; he finds words insufficient, and lets his blade speak for him." Releasing her, Aela turned instead to a man nearby, his back to them; it bore a great broadsword, formed of shining steel, its hilt rising above his head of long, dark hair. As Aela spoke, she clapped the man on the shoulder, and he turned to face them. Emara found herself staring into the face of the male who had so captivated her the day she arrived, barely hearing the words that passed Aela's lips. "Farkas, you remember the Mer from the other day; she calls herself Emara. And if rumor is correct, she is the Dragonborn."

Farkas grunted, his lips pursing into a thin line, before his voice - rough, deep, reminiscent of the grey stone of the mountains themselves - was heard. "Dragonborn or not, she won't survive Skyrim long if she doesn't learn how to wield that axe properly."

Aela's eyes rolled, and she gave her a look, as if to say,  _'Do you see what I mean?'_  It was tempered with fondness, though, like that of a sister for her brother, and followed with a small smirk. "You'll not be the one to teach her, Farkas, what with that great monster of a sword you carry. I will see to it Athis instructs her."

Stifling a smile was difficult, and proved entirely futile when Aela gave her a wink that was nigh-on conspiratorial. She put up no resistance as the other woman gently grasped her arm, guiding her away from Farkas toward a nearby Dunmer; but even as they went, she glanced once over her shoulder at the stoic Nord.

He turned away.

 

* * *

 

 

"No no  _no_." Athis' voice was harsh, irritable, as he groused from the edges of the training room. He wasn't there long, as he stalked across the cold stone to stand beside her; one hand grasped her wrist, the other repositioned her fingers on the haft of the axe. "You still hold it as though you fear it will turn and bite you, woman. The weapon must be  _part_  of you, a mere extension of your hand, like so."

"Give her some credit, Athis; she's clearly not used to a weapon this heavy. At least she's not dropped it." Aela's gentle censure earned her little more than an annoyed glance from Athis, who grumbled and moved back to the sidelines beside his battle sister. Aela looked away from him and back to Emara, who was steadily ignoring the blisters she could feel forming on her palm and fingers. "Did you fight in Valenwood?" At her hesitant nod, she pressed; "What sort of weapon did you use?"

"Daggers." The quiet response earned a look of understanding from Aela, and an exasperated sigh from Athis.

"No wonder! Well why didn't you keep them when you came here?" His question bespoke yet more annoyance, and Emara felt her proverbial hackles rising in response.

All she could do was snap at him. "They were taken from me when I was arrested by the Imperials; I assume they were meant to be returned to Valenwood with my body after I was executed simply for being there, and unfortunately, I was unable to find them while I was fleeing from a bloody Dragon. I picked up what I could grab without being set ablaze, and I ran."

It was the most any of them had heard out of the quiet, even-tempered Bosmer, and the first time she'd raised her voice above a normal speaking tone. Athis jerked back in surprise, and Aela arched a single copper-colored brow. They all started at the sound of leather scuffing against stone nearby, and three heads swung as one to look at the intruder. Farkas stepped forward, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Emara, and she felt an embarrassed flush enter her features, which only deepened as he spoke. "So, the little Mer has a backbone after all; I was starting to wonder."

_Little Mer?_  It was not an insult, she knew, but Emara couldn't help straightening as much as she could; she was small, she knew, smaller even than Aela, and Farkas dwarfed her easily as he approached. His arms unfolded, and for a moment, she thought he meant to grab her, which made her stiffen unconsciously. Her head tilted back, and she looked up into his eyes, wondering what he was about.

"You sounded angry. Hold onto that. If it gives you strength, use it." He waited a beat, to see if she understood, and when all she did was blink at him in apparent confusion, he huffed a sound of frustration, then grumbled. "Hit me."

"Farkas, what-"

"Shut up, Aela." He didn't even look at the Huntress; the eyes that bored into hers were cold as snow, and she shivered. "Hit me. Or is the little Mer too weak to throw a punch?"

Something inside her howled in protest at his words; rage darkened her vision, and before she could even contemplate what she was doing, her hands tightened. The right, gripping her axe, twitched; the left balled into a fist, and she swung at his face. He easily caught her wrist, but wasn't expecting her axe to suddenly flash up, aiming for his head. Farkas ducked the swing, and was forced to release her as she advanced. She might have been small and lacking in the strength that he made such use of, but she was swift; he was hard pressed to backstep away from her darting slashes, and when the back of one boot scraped against a wall of the training room, he reached for his sword.

The hands of Aela and Athis dragging her back quickly penetrated the haze which had wrapped her mind, and she dropped her axe, pulling free from their grasp and letting her hands hang idly at her sides. Part of her was sickened at what she'd done - these people had taken her in, provided a comfort she hadn't realized she'd needed, were trying to help her improve her abilities. And she'd tried to  _attack_  one of them. It hadn't been unprovoked, true, but it bothered her. What bothered her even more was that another part of her, a small, dark part, had  _enjoyed_  watching him retreat from her.

Aela was watching her closely, waiting to see what she would do next, while Athis picked up her axe. Farkas had recovered, and crossed his arms once more. "When you can learn to use that will without the anger, you'll be ready."

The remaining three were silent as he left the room, leaving a heavy pall in his wake. Finally, Aela cleared her throat and nudged Athis, who handed the axe back to Emara with an assessing gaze. "I think that's enough practice for one day. Let's go get some mead."


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I realize I am elaborating heavily upon the given dialogue within the game.. well actually pretty much disregarding it completely.. but that's because I don't feel like sitting here writing down what's being said in-game, or looking it up. Besides it's more fun this way.

"..Surely I misheard you." Emara's voice was calm, level, carefully controlled - in direct contrast to the words being spoken, or the distressed look she was giving Skjor. "You cannot have meant Farkas."

The battle-hardened, half-bald man eyed her askance, and though his milky left eye saw nothing, the Bosmer certainly felt as though it could see her very thoughts. "You didn't." Her quiet sound - whether of distress or annoyance, he couldn't tell - was met with a stern glare. "I know you and Farkas don't get along, and that's why he's been chosen to judge you. Our decision stands. Now get it done."

Her jaw shut with an audible  _click_  of teeth, and Aela frowned beside her, clapping a hand on the tense Mer's shoulder. "Sorry, friend. But rest assured, Farkas will judge you fairly."

Emara snorted, clearly not believing her friend's words, but said nothing. When Aela patted her shoulder again and departed, the Mer sighed, figuring she may as well find Farkas and get this over with. She turned around, and found herself nose-to-steel with the breastplate of the man in question. Stepping back, she lifted her gaze to his face, and blinked at what she saw there; his expression was unreadable, but she thought she spotted the tiniest hint of remorse. "So you've heard." She nodded briskly, and he continued. "Meet me at Dustman's Cairn."

Before she could respond, he was off. Her brow furrowed, but after a moment, she followed.  _Might as well get this over with._

 

* * *

 

 

"Try and find a way to continue on." It was phrased as a suggestion, but Emara knew an order when she heard one. Despite the mild anger that inspired, she yanked her axe out of the Draugr corpse at her feet and moved to explore the room they were in. It appeared to be a dead end.. at least until she found a small adjoining room with a lever in it. She whistled softly to get Farkas' attention, and gripped the lever. "Don't-"

Too late. She pulled the lever, then whipped around as a gate slammed down between them. There was no hiding her wince; this had probably killed her chances of joining the Companions. "Sorry. There must be a way.. to..." She trailed off, her pointed ears twitching slightly beneath the confines of the helmet. Were those.. voices?

"Stand back." Emara blinked, and moved away from the gate, against her better judgement. Her dark eyes widened as armored men and women poured into the room, bearing weapons with an odd gleam to the metal. Something wasn't right here. Her heart flipped unpleasantly in her chest as the group moved as one to attack Farkas; she surged against the gate like an imprisoned animal, reaching through it toward the surrounded Companion. For a moment, she thought she was seeing things as a darkness furled around his armored form, but no. He was.. changing. His already broad shoulders widened yet further, his tall frame becoming more so. The callused, capable hands sprouted claws just as skin was replaced with thick black fur.

Farkas stood before her, but he was a man no more. Slavering lupine jaws opened to utter a bone-chilling howl that made Emara cower back instinctively, before his powerful claws swiped out, rending flesh and muscle from bone. Soon the armored invaders lay crumpled before him, their blood splattered across the floor, and the both of them. Before she could so much as open her mouth, he ran back the way they'd come, and she had to step away from the gate as it rose back into the doorway above.

Emara took a few hesitant steps forward, then froze when Farkas reappeared, returned to the normal, if intimidating, shape of a human male. She eyed him warily, afraid he would change again, then glanced towards the bodies littering the floor. He stopped a few feet away, and looked at her in silence for several long moments. Finally, he sighed. "I know you have questions, but now isn't the time for them. We need to finish up here - when we get back to Jorrvaskr, you can bother Skjor to your heart's content. Understand?"

She pondered this. Whatever Farkas was, Skjor knew - likely Aela, Vilkas, and Kodlak, too. And these people, whoever they were, hunted down those who were like Farkas. Looking at their mutilated corpses sprawled inelegantly across the floor, her mind flashed back to that moment when they'd first appeared, the fear she'd felt. Fear for him. Her gaze turned back to Farkas then, and whatever he saw in her eyes startled him; he took an involuntary step backward, then stiffened. She stifled a sigh, and nodded, before pivoting away from him. "I understand."

He was silent for a beat, then two, and finally she heard him shuffle his feet. "Well.. good. Let's get moving."

 

* * *

 

 

Werewolves. The Circle were all werewolves.

Emara had to bite the inside of her cheek to silence a laugh that, she was sure, would have sounded a little deranged. They were all watching her - Aela, Vilkas, Skjor.. Farkas. This was a moment that could end very, very badly, if she handled it wrong. The odd font before her seemed to beckon. She would truly belong to these Companions, if she did this. She would be a close, trusted member of the Circle.

She cupped her hands in the liquid before her, and drank deeply.

 

* * *

 

 

By the Divines, her head  _ached_. In truth, everything ached, now that she was becoming fully aware of her body. She was cold, every muscle protested as she shifted, there were rocks digging into her side, and if someone didn't shut those blasted birds up, she was going to scream.

"She wasn't ready!"

Farkas? What was he doing here? For that matter, where was 'here' to begin with? She hesitantly cracked open one newly-silvered eye, looking around her. She appeared to be in a thicket, somewhere on the plains around Whiterun, judging by the looming presence of Dragonsreach in the near distance.. although what concerned her was the fact that she was practically naked. Her smallclothes didn't cover much, leaving the majority of her pale flesh open to scrutiny. Opening her other eye, she sat up partially, looking over the underbrush around her. Nearby, her armor and weapons sat in a small, neat pile, and beyond that, she saw Farkas having a heated discussion with Aela. Ducking her head down, she peered through the sparse growth around her, allowing a momentary frission of guilt as she listened in on their conversation.

"It wasn't your decision, Farkas. I know you don't like the girl, b-"

Farkas made a sharp chopping gesture with one hand, that as much as his furious expression silencing a startled Aela. "She could have been killed, Aela! The Silver Hand was waiting for her! If we hadn't been there..."

Aela sounded puzzled. "You were concerned for her? Is that why you followed her here after she changed back?"

He was worried she'd be harmed? Emara bit her lip, brow furrowing in confusion. But.. Farkas hated her. Didn't he? She felt her arms trembling, the muscles tired after long hours of doing.. well, she wasn't sure what, exactly, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. But she couldn't remain like this. She shifted, the brush rattling around her, and by the time she stood, Farkas had already departed; she could just barely make out the silhouette of his form departing into the early morning light.

Her gaze turned to Aela as the Huntress neared, a forced lightness to her voice. "Ah, so you're awake! Come. We have much to discuss."

 

* * *

 

 

Kodlak was dead.

Sorrow permeated Jorrvaskr and its Companions, thick as the snow that fell atop the Throat of the World. There was no word spoken as they went about their business. Their Harbinger was gone, and there was a sense of listlessness about them. Emara sat on the steps behind the hall, her elbows on her knees, staring at her battleworn hands as they dangled between her legs. She couldn't help feeling that this was somehow her failing.. as though, had she been here, instead of off doing as Kodlak himself asked, the man would still be alive.

Vilkas' accusations upon her return had certainly not helped this feeling. More keenly, she remembered the look Farkas had given her - pure sadness.

She was withdrawn from her introspection by the sound of voices nearby, pitched low, but intense. She glanced up to see Vilkas and Farkas themselves, discussing something with heated gestures and furious glowers. Finally, Vilkas broke away and approached her, although something about the way Farkas turned to look at her made it impossible for her to draw her gaze away. Only when he finally departed did she look at his brother, her eyes filled with a silent question. He grimaced, then jerked his head toward the fields outside Whiterun.

"You and I have business to attend to."

 

* * *

 

 

The Silver Hand was no more. The slaughter of Kodlak Whitemane had been avenged, the stolen fragments of Wuuthrad reclaimed. Outside, surrounding the Skyforge, were the Companions and those of Whiterun who had known and loved the Harbinger - all save one. Emara sat on the floor in what had been Kodlak's quarters within Jorrvaskr, one tremulous hand clutching the final fragment of Ysgramor's famed weapon to her chest, while the other held a journal. Kodlak's journal. Moisture gathered in her eyes as she read the words he'd written about her, of her progress, of her capabilities, his thoughts on her.

She jumped as a footstep purposefully scraped against the floor nearby, and her head, devoid of the usual helmet, whipped around, to turn wide eyes on the intruder. To her surprise, Farkas stood with a hand against the doorframe, watching her with an odd expression on his face. Emara could only look at him, then offer up the well-worn journal and words thick with unshed tears. "He wrote of me, Farkas. Such things he said. I had no idea."

Still silent, Farkas closed the space between them, whereupon he took the journal and quickly skimmed its contents, his frown turning to more of a pensive expression. Finally, he closed the pages and set it on a nearby table, before looking down at her in thought. After a few moments, he hesitantly offered his hand. Emara, thinking he wanted the fragment of Wuuthrad, reached out to drop it into his palm, but stopped when he shook his head once. Confused and uncertain, she placed her other hand in his, and found herself quickly but gently tugged onto her feet.

She looked up at him. They were close enough that the metal of their respective breastplates were touching. And he was still holding her hand. There was something intense in those cold silver eyes of his, something so different from his usual frigid severity - something heated and full of unspoken promise. Just as she opened her mouth, to say what, not even she was sure, he let go of her hand, quickly as though it burned him, and stepped back with a grunt. "..We should get back."

He was gone before she could muster a reply.

 

* * *

 

 

Three weeks later, Emara found herself in a familiar position; seated on the rear steps of Jorrvaskr, elbows on her knees and gaze fixed on the hands dangling between her legs. But this time, it was not in shock of the death of Kodlak; rather, it was shock of what had transpired in the recent weeks. In honor of Kodlak's final request, she and the remaining members of the Circle had traveled to Ysgramor's tomb in the far north, and cured their former Harbinger, posthumously, of his lycanthropy.

Now Emara was the Harbinger.

She kept waiting to wake up. Surely this was just some odd dream. Someone more fitting - Aela, with her spirited devotion to the Companions, or Vilkas, with his headstrong ferocity, or Farkas, with his stolid determination - would be a better choice. But Kodlak's shade had spoken, and that was more than enough for the remnants of the Circle. Lost in rumination, she was startled by a voice beside her.

"Harbinger."

She cringed visibly, and was quick to stand, looking up at Farkas with something that bordered on horror. "Please.. please don't call me that. I don't.. feel ready to accept being called that. Not yet."

He hesitated, then nodded slowly. "All right.. Emara." An awkward silence fell between them then, before he cleared his throat, and fixed an oddly determined look on her and continued. "I need your help with something."

Emara blinked. Farkas, coming to her for help? It had to be something important. "Is something the matter? I'll do whatever I can, of course."

He fidgeted a moment, obviously trying to find the best way to phrase his request, and the words ground out of him with all the elegance of an ancient tree toppling. "I want to.. be cured."

That was not what she expected. She mulled over his words. There could be no other response, really. So after a few heartbeats, she nodded. "Let me retrieve the heads, and it shall be done."


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is barely sticking to canon.. I know.. shhh.. this is my head-canon. Live with it.

It had taken her some time to accept being Harbinger, but she had finally begun to settle into the role. With Aela now the only remaining lycanthrope of the Circle, Emara left the Huntress in charge of the Companions when she finally mustered the courage to venture up the heights of the Throat of the World. She was gone two months, traveling to the base of and then scaling the giant mountain, beginning her studies with the Greybeards, perfecting her first Shout, learning of others.

When she returned to Whiterun, with a new appreciation of the warmth that covered the plains, she was halfway afraid things had changed at Jorrvaskr. But as she set foot inside the hall, and she was wrapped in the familiarity and welcome of her Companions, she smiled for the first time since before Kodlak's death. Aela was quick to approach, informing her of what had transpired during her absence, but once her discussion with the Huntress ended, she turned away, meaning to acquire a tankard of mead and a hot meal.

Instead, she nearly collided with Farkas, who stood there like a stone wall. She looked up at him in confusion, wondering how long he'd been standing there. His eyes, no longer pale with the curse of his disease, searched hers in silence for several long moments. She was on the verge of stepping around him when he spoke, his voice deep and gravelly as ever. "You're back."

She couldn't stop the amused twitch of her lips, or the smile that soon followed. "Yes, I am. It is good to see you, Farkas. Have you been well?"

He said nothing. Only looked at her for a few more beats. Then he turned and went outside.

_What was that all about?_

 

* * *

 

 

Sleep had become a precious commodity over the past weeks. It was not at all unusual for Emara to wake in the middle of the night and find herself restless, needing to move about. That night was no different. She stirred in her bed at Jorrvaskr, and almost immediately came fully awake. With a resigned sigh, she stood and pulled on doeskin breeches, and leather jerkin and boots, resolving to see what had become of her home in town and her housecarl. As she left the sleeping quarters, she froze on the stairs, hearing voices in the main hall; most of the Companions were asleep at this hour, so who could it be? Crouching, she crept forward, her ears perked. It was then that she discerned the voices of Aela and Farkas.

"Farkas, you can't keep this up. You were a walking disaster the whole time she was gone - now that she's back, things have to change." Aela's tone was insistent, almost pleading.

But Farkas was having none of it. "I was not. And no, they don't. Nothing has to change, and nothing is going to. She's the Harbinger, and I'm of the Circle - all is as it should be."

The Huntress scoffed, sounding annoyed now. "You're a fool. Everyone can see that she haunts your thoughts. Just tell Emara that you care for her, and let nature take its course."

Lycanthropy or not, Farkas' growl was undeniable. "This conversation is over."

Heavy footsteps were heard, followed by the opening and subsequent slam of the hall's main door, a sound loud enough that it made Emara cringe. She crept back down the stairs a bit, then sat on one of the steps, her elbows on her knees and chin cradled in upturned palms. She half-heard as Aela sighed and took a seat, muttering to herself about how men were all idiots. It was all background noise as she struggled with her tumultuous thoughts.

Farkas had acted strangely when she returned, then avoided her the rest of the day. To hear Aela tell it, the gruff Nord had some sort of feelings for her - and the implication was not that they were negative. She felt an unfamiliar twisting in her gut at the idea. What, exactly, were these 'feelings' Aela claimed Farkas had for her? More importantly: What was she going to do about it? Her mind turned toward a letter in her gear downstairs, one from a certain Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath, the only matter she had yet to turn her attention to.

Perhaps it was time she took another trip.

 

* * *

 

 

"Speak to my steward if you require anything." Siddgeir's vaguely effiminate, lackadaisical gesture was as much a dismissal as his words, and Emara only bowed before turning away. She looked up toward the second floor, wondering if the woman was upstairs, and started that way when a couple of chatting servants nearby garnered her attention with a single word.

"-married! After all this time, I can't believe they're finally going to do it." The female voice was bubbly with excitement, and out of curiosity, Emara halted, eavesdropping shamelessly. Not that she would need the information. She was just fascinated by the differences between Nord and Bosmer culture. Of course that was all it was.

"Well it's about time. He's been talking about going to Riften for ages - never expected him to take off so suddenly, let alone return with an Amulet of Mara! When's the wedding?" The male half of the conversation was vaguely amused, with far less anticipation than his female counterpart.

"Oh, we're all heading down there next Tirdas. From what I was told, the wedding will be held at the Temple of Mara on Middas, at about n-"

"Thane." Emara jumped, and looked up into the curious, somewhat disapproving face of Nenya, Siddgeir's steward. "Can I help you with something?"

Her reply was there before she'd even really considered it.

"I would like to buy land."

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken six weeks of steady work, learning how to fit the logs and the hardened clay together, how to hammer the nails so they wouldn't bend or break, how to sand the wood so it was free of splinters. Finally, it was done. There was a great sense of pride within her as Emara stood before the manor in the bright afternoon sun, hands on her hips and surveying her work. The lake sparkled in the near distance, wind rustled through the trees, birds sang from their boughs.

Inside, she knew a fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and Rayya was putting the finishing touches on the decor she'd ordered. The rooms were filled with furniture, odds and ends to fill the empty shelves, the scents of food and alchemy supplies mingled with the vague odor of smoke from the basement forge. Her black and white mare was happily settled in the half-stable behind her, munching on hay; chickens clucked as they pecked at the ground, milling around a furry cow who grazed steadily.

The house was perfect. The land was perfect.

All she needed now was someone to share it with.

 

* * *

 

 

She was the Dragonborn.

She had faced down Dragons, Draugr, and ghosts. She had scaled the inhospitable heights of the Throat of the World. She had survived Helgen, become a lycanthrope, and cured herself of the disease. There was little that stood in her way.

She had never been so nervous in her life.

It had taken a long time for the people of Whiterun to stop staring at her like she was some exotic oddity, but as she emerged now from the mostly-forgotten Breezehome, everyone within sight stopped to eye her askance. Funny, she mused, that a Bosmer in heavy steel with the ability to Shout had become commonplace, but let that same Bosmer set foot on the streets in a simple blue dress without a weapon in sight, and all eyes were on her once more. She bit back a smile, and proceeded through the streets in silence, making her way up into the Wind District with as much speed as she could manage, given how odd it felt to be wearing a dress again.

There was a sudden hush across the hall of Jorrvaskr as she stepped inside, and she tensed beneath the stares, which ranged from confused to admiring. After a quick glance around the hall, she saw that her quarry was not amongst those assembled, and on a whim, proceeded directly across the open space, out the back door to the training area.

As she'd hoped, he was there, alone, idly running an oiled rag across the length of his greatsword. He looked up when he heard the door open, and dropped his gaze back to the piece of Skyforged steel, only to do an immediate double-take and look back up at her with shock clearly painted on his face. She paused, for a moment uncertain, then forced herself to approach him. His eyes swept across her from the shine of her freshly washed and brushed hair, across her slim, feminine form to the barely visible toes of her comfortable boots, then returned to the Amulet of Mara around her neck. Something in his gaze made her heart beat faster, harder, louder, and she was certain that, somehow, he could hear it.

She stopped close enough to touch him, but didn't. She stood there, gazing at him, and waited for him to say something; she could see his throat working as he swallowed, the clench of his jaw as he thought. Finally, after several long moments, his mouth opened, his words carefully spoken. "You're ah.. you're wearing an Amulet of Mara."

She nodded, and nervously smoothed her hands across the soft blue fabric of her skirt. "Yes, I am."

He seemed to weigh this information, using it to proceed to the next logical point. "And you're talking.. to me."

This should not be funny. But it was. Her lips twitched threateningly as she fought a smile. "Yes, I am."

All the breath escaped him suddenly on a surprised sound, and he set his blade on the bench beside him before he stood and turned away, taking a few steps out toward the sunlit training area. Her hands clenched anxiously at her sides; had she misjudged Aela's meaning, that night she'd overheard them? Had she made a mistake? She was ready to make good her escape and save herself further embarrassment while his back was turned, but she lost her opportunity a moment later when he stopped and suddenly moved back toward her, a stern, confused look on his face. "Why me? I've treated you horribly from the moment you stepped through that door."

At least he wasn't completely rejecting her. Forcing herself to relax, at least a little, she licked her lips as she pondered how best to explain her reasoning. "You have never treated me as anything more than I am. To you, I am just a woman - not the Dragonborn, not the Harbinger. Just.. Emara." Taking a chance, she moved closer to him, looking up into his eyes. "With you, I feel normal. I miss that. I  _need_  that. But.. if you.. if you don't..."

She trailed off when he raised his hand, and fell silent, watching in hopeful confusion as his hand fell only slightly, enough to lightly brush callused fingertips across the amulet she wore. His brow furrowed, a sure sign he was deep in thought, and they stood like that for what seemed an eternity. When at last he spoke, his voice was a little rougher than normal, his eyes slowly meeting hers. "..If you're sure..?"

Joy buoyed her heart, and the smile that stole across her lips felt like it was going to split her face in two.. but she couldn't care less. She nodded, hesitantly reaching up to lay her fingertips on the back of his hand. "I am."

Something about him seemed to relax, as though a heavy burden had been taken from his shoulders, and he very nearly smiled. Almost. "Then I suppose.. I'll see you in Riften."

 

* * *

 

 

When word spread through Jorrvaskr of the impending marriage of their Harbinger and one of the Circle, the initial reaction was surprise, quickly followed by raucous merriment. It was decided they would set out for Riften the very next day, intent on seeing this wedding happen immediately. Emara and Farkas were swept along in a tide of celebration, barely able to spend time together, at least not alone. They found moments during the long trip to the Rift to simply sit and be. Occasionally, they spoke, telling each other about their lives before they met, and other things about themselves; more often than not, they just sat there, their hands barely touching. But it was enough.

Their arrival in Riften late one night nearly two weeks later stirred up a brief frenzy, at least until they all found rest at the Bee and Barb. Emara was awakened early the next morning by Aela, who, in the company of the other female Companions, dragged her off to prepare for her wedding.. despite her considerable protestations. The sun had just reached its zenith when she found herself unceremoniously escorted into the Temple of Mara, feeling as though her skin had been scrubbed half off, and her hair pulled so tight on her scalp she'd be amazed if it didn't all fall out.

But everyone was there. The Companions surrounded her with warmth and happiness. And most importantly, Farkas stood before the altar, waiting for her. He turned to look at her, and he smiled - it was faint, barely the slightest upward turn at the corners of his lips, but it was there, and from that moment forward, she was lost. She barely remembered stammering her way through an  _'I do, now and forever.'_  at Maramal's urging (and with much quiet laughter from the assembled Companions), and suddenly, there was a ring in her hand. She turned it over, then glanced at Farkas, following his example as she slid the golden item onto a finger of her left hand.

Everyone began filtering out, talking about a party at the Bee and Barb before they left, and Emara vaguely noticed Aela with her arm around Maramal's shoulders, guiding the priest out of his own temple. Then, they were alone. She fidgeted, and her breath caught when Farkas crossed the few steps between them; her hands trembled as he took them in his own, but she couldn't even begin to stop smiling up at him.

"So.. that's it. We're married." He sounded just as stunned as she felt, and suddenly, he laughed - a short, brusque chuckle, but enough to elicit a soft sound of amusement from her. "..Where will we live? There's always Jorrvaskr, but..."

Her smile turned a bit sly then, even as her cheeks flushed with color. "I have a surprise.. but it can wait until after the festivities have ended." She tugged lightly on his hands as she started toward the door, her voice tinged with gentle affection. "Come.. husband."

There was no denying the light in his eyes when she called him that.


	4. Chapter Four

The wagon rumbled to a stop, jolting Emara from her light doze. It had begun to get cold, as the year turned toward the winter months, and she was bundled up against Farkas in a few furs in the carriage bed. Her husband - she once again marveled at those words as she thought them, and felt an unrestrained smile appear on her face - was fast asleep, his head pillowed on the satchel which held some of the clothes Aela had gifted him as a wedding present, insisting that he was a married man now, he didn't have to wear his armor  _all_  the time.

After admiring his scruffy visage in silence for a few moments, she began to wriggle out of his grasp and the encasing furs, only to gasp in surprise as she was suddenly pulled back down. Strong arms twined around her waist, pulling her side up against his muscled chest, and she smiled as his face nuzzled into the thick fall of her hair, his voice rumbling sleepily against her neck. "Where do you think you're off to, wife?"

She laughed softly, turning her head to brush her lips across his stubbled cheek, before murmuring her reply. "The carriage has stopped.. we've arrived at what I wanted to show you. My surprise."

That made him open his eyes, and he grunted in ungracious assent as he released her. "All right. Let's see it, then."

She reluctantly extricated herself from the tangle of limbs and furs a second time, then hopped out of the carriage into a light dusting of snow. Turning to look at her home,  _their_  home, she felt a surge of pride again, and turned to Farkas with a beaming smile when he descended from the wagon. He tugged his greatsword free of the contents within, then let his gaze drift across the area, finally landing on the two-story structure of wood and stone. His eyes widened slightly in amazement, before they turned to her, silently asking for an explanation, one she happily supplied as the door opened, producing her housecarl. "I built this.. with the intention of making it our home.. if you said yes. One of the advantages of being Thane of Falkreath, I suppose... And this is Rayya, my housecarl."

"You.. built this. With your own hands." The words were part question, mostly statement, as he looked at her with disbelief. Her timid nod made him grunt in surprise, then he was abruptly coiling his arm around her waist, dipping his head to lightly press his brow against hers. "I was wise to accept you.. you're far stronger than I first realized."

She was clearly pleased by this statement, and blushed as Rayya cleared her throat a few steps away. "I was wise to offer. Come, let's take our things inside."

 

* * *

 

 

Night had long since fallen, Rayya gone to her bed after they'd put all their possessions, newly acquired and not, in their proper places, and eaten a hearty dinner. Farkas came inside, shaking a light fall of snow out of his dark hair, and looked for his wife; a sound from the back room told him she was emerging from the forge, and she soon moved into sight. He admired her, her dark hair tied back at the nape of her neck, her finely muscled form wrapped in leather and fur, a smudge of soot on her cheek. She suddenly noticed him, and stopped, color permeating her features as she saw him looking at her. His lips twisted in slight amusement, and he closed the space that separated them, reaching up to wipe the dark smudge from her skin. "In all the commotion, I didn't get to ask.. why's that room over there closed up?"

She looked where he gestured, to the side of the house opposite the kitchen, and shrugged. "I haven't decided what to do with it yet. Rayya said in the blueprints, it's designated as either greenhouse, or childrens' room." The slight wrinkle of her nose drew a soft huff of mirth from him; he knew what she was going to say next. "Since I'm herbologically impaired, for a Bosmer, a greenhouse is out.. I just haven't decided what to do with it yet."

"Do you.. want children?" He sounded hesitant, and she looked surprised by the question. The skin between her brows crinkled, as it often did when she was thinking, and he didn't try to stop himself from smoothing his thumb across the space, smirking as she absently leaned into his touch.

"I.. don't know, honestly. I've never thought about it before. And with.. what I have to do..." She trailed off, trying to ignore the sudden pall of darkness which seemed to have descended upon their conversation. "..Well, it wouldn't be wise for me to try and.. carry a child. Not now, anyway."

Farkas nodded his understanding. In truth, the thought of a pink, wailing, helpless newborn terrified him. But he remembered something. "There's an orphanage in Riften, remember. So that's always an option."

Something in her eyes softened, and her next words were murmured so quietly, he almost had trouble hearing them. "No.. no, that little girl, who runs around Whiterun, begging... Lucia."

"I remember her. She seemed like a very.. nice child." His awkwardness with the words made her laugh slightly, and she tilted her head forward, leaning it against his shoulder. He stroked her hair for a moment, enjoying the peace between them.

"Would you be okay with that? With adopting a girl, or boy, or.. or maybe both?" She glanced up at him, uncertain, and awaited his response with some apprehension. She liked the thought of saving some urchin from the streets - at least the children in the Riften orphanage had shelter, and clothes, and food in their bellies.

He considered this, looking slightly uncomfortable. He'd never considered raising a child before, or children, but.. it couldn't be that hard, could it? Especially if they were already somewhat capable of taking care of themselves. Slowly, he nodded. "I.. yes. I think that would.. be all right."

Her smile rivaled the hearth's blaze for brilliance, and something inside him clenched pleasantly as he was struck with the sudden urge to kiss her. The intimacy between them had been a very slow thing; she always seemed uncertain about the intricacies of affection and physicality between a man and woman, and he had done little more than hold her since they left Riften nearly three weeks prior.

Now, he cupped her jaw, threading his fingers into her hair and dislodging the strip of rawhide which bound it, and lowered his head. His lips found hers, and although she seemed startled, she didn't stop him. He tilted his head, slanting his lips against hers, and struggled to restrain himself when her mouth opened to him, a breathless sound of pleasure resonating in her throat. He wanted nothing more than to carry her up to their bed on the second floor, and it took every ounce of his considerable will to stop himself doing just that. Instead, he broke away, and looked down at her, delicious innocence incarnate, with her softly swollen lips and flushed cheeks, her big dark eyes dazed and heavy-lidded.

He could definitely get used to this marriage thing.

 

* * *

 

 

Two months later, they returned to Whiterun, she to check on the state of the Companions and to discuss state matters with the Jarl, and he to visit their old friends. Winter had touched Whiterun as well, leaving a light dusting of snow across the streets and lingering on the eaves of houses, and Emara felt a touch of concern as she and Farkas proceeded up the steps into the Wind District. Relief suffused her being as she spotted Lucia sitting on a bench, huddled against the cold in a moth-eaten shawl and nearly worn out shoes. She and Farkas shared a look, before he lightly brushed her hand, and proceeded to Jorrvaskr by himself.

Emara approached the bench were Lucia sat, looking tired, cold, and not a little sad. She seemed to shake herself to liveliness when she saw boots nearing, and looked up, only for her little face to light up at recognizing her former frequent benefactor. "Miss Ema, ma'am! It's been so long since I saw you!" Her little face fell briefly, lips claimed by a frown. "Where did you go?"

"I'm sorry, Lucia. Something came up." She sat on the bench next to the young orphan, removing the thick fur half-cloak about her shoulders, and instead draping it across Lucia's thin form. "I built a house, out in Falkreath hold, and got married. My husband and I have just come from getting settled in there."

Lucia's wide eyes were filled with wonder, and her smile was quick to return. "Oh, but that's wonderful! You must be very happy. I'm happy for you, Miss Ema."

"Thank you, Lucia." Emara chuckled, then hesitated, carefully choosing her words. "You know, Lucia.. I have a room at my house, with two beds, and plenty of space for a little girl, should she choose to fill it."

It took a moment for what she was saying to penetrate, but when it did, Lucia's little eyes grew wide as saucers. She clutched the borrowed cloak around her small shoulders, and dared to hope, just for a moment. "You.. you mean.. you would want to be my Mama, Miss Ema? What about your husband? Would he mind?"

Emara's heart melted. Even if she hadn't already been certain about this, she would have been after that. She nodded, smiling softly as she reached up to lightly place her hand atop Lucia's head. "My husband and I have discussed the idea, and he's quite all right with it. In truth, we would like it very much if you would come to live with us, Lucia."

Tears cleaned a path through the thin layer of grime on Lucia's cheeks, and she hiccuped a quiet sob as she threw herself into Emara's armored frame, her small arms wrapping as much around the armored Bosmer's body as they could. "You won't regret this, Mama! I'll be the best daughter ever!"

"I'm sure you will. Come now." She gently pried Lucia away from her, and a gloved thumb softly wiped the tears from her face, before guiding the child to her feet. "Go on up to Jorrvaskr, and find a man named Farkas; that is my husband. Stay with him until I come to get you. I have some matters to discuss with the Jarl, and I need to see to a few things in the market.. then we can return home to Falkreath."

"I will, Mama. Bye!" Lucia bounced lightly on her toes, then turned and darted up the nearby steps to the ancient mead hall, dwarfed by her new adoptive mother's cloak. Emara watched her go with a sense of deep satisfaction. She had done a good thing.. and it certainly didn't hurt that she genuinely liked that little girl. Her daughter, now.

She had a daughter. Who would have ever expected that?

 

* * *

 

 

Watching Farkas interact with Lucia was, at times, unbearably amusing. He seemed so hesitant, so afraid he would accidentally hurt her, but he always looked so surprised when she would hug him around the waist and call him Papa. The return trip to Falkreath took a bit of time, with the snows beginning to fall more heavily, but once they arrived back at the lake house, it took very little time at all for Lucia to settle in. She exclaimed over everything, and ran around until she was exhausted. Farkas was cleaning up the remains of dinner when Emara carried the half-asleep girl to her very own bed, clutching the doll she'd been given not long before they departed Whiterun. "Mama?"

"Yes, Lucia?" Emara placed the girl in her bed, tugging off her shoes before tugging the covers out from under, then up and over, her nearly boneless body.

"Does Papa not like that I'm a girl?" Her sleepy murmur was nonetheless insistent, and she peered drowsily up at her adoptive mother.

Emara breathed a quiet laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching over to push soft hair out of Lucia's eyes. "Of course he does. Why would you think that?"

Lucia shrugged, a barely discernible movement beneath her blankets, and continued after a yawn. "He seemed unhappy, when I didn't know what to do with the wooden sword... I like dolls better.. is that bad? Should I be more like you, Mama?"

"No, Lucia." Her tone was firm, but gentle, as she shook her head. "Mama is a very.. different kind of woman. If I had the luxury of playing with dolls, I would be glad for it. You do whatever makes you happy.. I will talk with Papa." She paused, considering, then smiled. "And who knows.. perhaps I'll find a brother for you the next time I go out adventuring."

Lucia smiled at that, but couldn't muster a reply; within moments, she was asleep. Emara watched her for a few minutes, then stood, careful not to disturb her, and snuffed the candle on her nightstand, before moving upstairs. Farkas was sitting on the edge of their bed, prying off his gauntlets, and glanced over his shoulder at her. "You were in there for a while. Is everything all right with Lucia?"

"She thinks you don't like her because she's not a boy and doesn't want to play with swords." Her tone was wry, and she couldn't help a laugh at his choked sound of denial. "It's all right; I told her that wasn't so. However, you are outnumbered. I think perhaps, should I find a little urchin boy who needs a home, I'll bring him back with me."

Farkas tucked his gauntlets into the wardrobe with the rest of his armor, then turned to face her as she reclined on the bed beside him, leaning against her with an inquisitive expression. "Are you sure about that? I mean, we only just brought Lucia back here.. is it too soon?"

She rolled her shoulders in a slight shrug, then gestured almost helplessly with her hands. "I don't know, Farkas. We've been parents only a couple of weeks, now, but.. I really enjoy it. I like thinking that I'm helping to mold a life, to create hope and a future where once there was none."

Her words were unexpected; every time he turned around, she was surprising him. But every new thing just made him love her more. That was when he realized it fully: He loved her. Abruptly, he kissed her, hard and with passion. When he pulled back, she looked dazed, but not displeased, and he smiled against her brow as he murmured. "I love you."

She was clearly not expecting that. Her eyes widened, then her whole face softened in a way he'd never seen before, except when she was sleeping - free of the worries and responsibilities that plagued her waking hours. It was humbling, to know she felt so safe with him, and he leaned into her touch with no inhibitions as she stroked his stubbled jaw. "And I love you."

 

* * *

 

 

A hard few weeks' ride found her in Dawnstar, and her first impression was not a great one. The guards gave her mistrustful looks, the people scurried about as though they were under constant threat, and the weather was just plain awful. Dropping her poor mare off at the inn to be cared for, she moved through the streets in search of the Jarl's longhouse; with her attention elsewhere, she didn't notice the little boy hurtling toward her until they collided.

"Umph!" Staggering back a step, she braced herself and gripped the child's shoulders, barely keeping him from toppling right over into the deep drifts of snow. "Steady now, boy. What's all the rush about?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am! I didn't see you!" He looked flustered, gazing up at the armored figure before him, a number of empty sacks clutched precariously in his arms. "I-I was just coming back from taking food to the miners.. trying to get to the inn before the sun sets, and it gets really cold..."

Her brow furrowed, and she made sure he was steady on his feet before releasing him. "Your parents work at the inn, then?"

The boy hesitated, then looked down at the snow-covered ground, almost as though he were.. ashamed. "..I don't have any parents. Ma died when I was young, and Pa.. well Pa died a few months ago. They let me sleep on the floor at the inn."

"..I see." Emara felt a surge of pity for this child, followed by a flash of anger. What kind of person made a child sleep on the floor of their inn? "What's your name, boy?"

"Alesan, ma'am." He looked up at her again, wide-eyed and faintly afraid. "A-are you mad, ma'am? Please don't turn me in to the guards!"

She jerked back, looking horrified. "By the Divines, I wouldn't do such a thing! Do you know who I am, Alesan?" He shook his head, and she smiled down at him. "My name is Emara; some people call me the Dragonborn."

It shouldn't have been possible for his eyes to get any bigger, but they did, somehow. " _You're_  the Dragonborn? Oh, wow!" Then he looked dismayed. "I can't believe I ran into the Dragonborn. I'm so sorry!"

Emara bit her tongue, stifling a laugh. "Never you mind that. You know, Alesan, I have a home in Falkreath, right on the lake; I also have a husband and a daughter, who I'm sure would be happy to have a son and brother, as it were. Know anyone who might be willing to help us out?"

Alesan stared at her, as though she were speaking a different language. Then he looked from side to side, wondering, perhaps, if she meant someone else. Then he peeked hesitantly back at her, and pointed uncertainly to himself. "Do.. do you mean me, ma'am?"

"I certainly do. It's just not right, a boy running about in the cold like this, no parents, sleeping on the floor. I have a home that needs more children, more joy and laughter; I want you to make it complete." She looked at him with serious intent, and watched the transformation of his face with amusement.

"Oh.. oh, wow! I-I'd love to come live with you! What should I do?" He shifted his weight, trying to restore some warmth to his feet in the deep snow.

Emara reached into her belt pouch, withdrawing a few Septims, and pressed them into one of his small, cold hands. "Take those, go get yourself some food and drink at the inn. I have business with the Jarl, but I'll be by to retrieve you as soon as I'm done. Then we'll go back to Falkreath."

He looked down at the coins in his hand, then up at her with such an expression of gratitude, she was floored. "Okay, ma'am. I mean.. Ma. I'll wait for you."

She turned to watch him for a few moments as he disappeared into the inn, then returned to her mission. She was eager to get back home to the lake house, with her new son. Farkas would be so pleased. ..She hoped.


	5. Chapter Five

Alesan settled nicely into life at the lake house; he bickered and played with Lucia, and was more than glad to have Farkas teach him how to use even just a wooden sword. Farkas was happy, she knew, and already planning ahead, talking about teaching Alesan how to wield a greatsword like his Pa. Although her times at home were few, brief, and far between, she took great joy in her house, her family. There were many instances where she raged at what destiny held for her, times when she came home to find chickens slaughtered and wolf pelts strung up to tan, or bandit gear beside a pyre on the hill nearby; Rayya had even mentioned, in conspiratorial whispers so as not to frighten the children or anger Farkas, the shadows of dragons passing above.

But winter became spring, and life returned to the lake valley, and the attacks by wolves were much lesser, and the bandits had learned to stay away. Summer was a time of plenty, with the garden proving bountiful, the game plenty, and Farkas' store successful with the people of Falkreath. Emara allowed herself to relax - perhaps this destiny as Dragonborn, once fulfilled, would leave her be, and she could live in peace with her family.

She was looking forward to the beauty and respite of the lake country again, after helping to clear the Forsworn out of Markarth, when she guided her horse up the path from the lake. It had been a long ride, and she was exhausted, half-dozing atop the sturdy mare's wide back, but a commotion up ahead managed to rouse her into full awareness; she gently heeled the mare into a swifter pace, and rounded the corner. What she saw made her freeze in horror.

A Giant swung its club so forcefully the air whistled around it, the bulky piece of wood slamming Rayya aside as though she were no more than a child's toy. Farkas cried out, trying to usher the children back toward the house, even as he slashed at the air between himself and the looming creature. Ineffectually, as it turned out; the club collided with him next, making his armored form crash into the side of the house so forcefully she heard the metal break. The children screamed, trying to scramble back into the house, but in two strides, the giant was upon them; they were both crushed beneath a single solid blow.

Blood was everywhere. The cow had been ripped to pieces, her mare's half-stable reduced to splinters, Rayya's broken corpse in the remains. And her family. Her family was no more than a pile of shattered bones and bloody matter on the earth she had toiled with her own two hands, tamed to her will.

Something within her tightened, creaked, and fractured. A cry that was far from human erupted from her lungs as she hurled herself from the mare's back, not even noticing when the brave equine charged alongside her master in her headlong rush towards the creature who had slaughtered her family so unrepentantly. The giant had a few seconds to turn and look at her, bewildered, before she was upon it; one Shout soaked into the very core of its being, sapping away vitality, as she slashed at it with her ebon axe, bashed it with her ebon shield. It staggered beneath the onslaught, but recovered quickly, and batted her horse aside with ease - something in the back of her mind registered its last pained scream before its back broke against a tree.

She couldn't care. Another Shout tore from her throat, making the Giant stumble and nearly fall to its knees. It only managed to remain upright due to sheer size, but as she forged ahead with fury twined around every fiber of her being, it seemed to reconsider its quarry. Apparently deciding to flee the maddened Bosmer, it turned and made to lope away. With a scream of pure mindless rage, Emara launched herself off the edge of the slight bluff on which her house stood, and landed on the Giant's back. It lurched in surprise, and tried to pull her off, but she was latched on with all her strength; both legs tightened, vise-like, about the Giant's neck, while her left hand gripped its lank, filthy hair, her shield forgotten on the ground. Her right arched overhead, and flashed down, plunging the sharp black edge of her axe into its head once. And again. And again.

Blood began to gush from the wounds in its skull; its club fell to the ground, unnoticed, as it wobbled and collapsed to its knees. Her attacks only continued, until it finally toppled forward onto its face, groaned a final time, and was still. Her breath came in harsh gasps, one trembling hand holding a fistful of hair with bloody scalp dangling from the end. In a flash, she remembered the carnage above, and her axe was dropped, forgotten in a heartbeat, as she dashed back up the hill. A nearly animalistic whimper of sorrow tumbled past slack lips as she saw the still body of her horse, the twisted shell of Rayya; when her gaze landed upon the crater where two small blots of bone, cloth, and blood lay unmoving, she yanked her helm off and let it fall as she sank to her knees, retching into the fertile earth.

"My.. my love..."

Farkas! He yet lived? Her head whipped around, eyes wide and wild, and looked at the feebly moving form of her husband. The cry of fragile hope twined with pure despair that erupted from her said more than any words could as she scrambled across the ground to his side, cradling his limp form in her arms. Blood was leaking from the corner of his lips, and each breath clearly pained him; he could barely move the fingers of his left hand, but other than that, he was still. "Farkas! Oh, Farkas, my love, forgive me, I was too late, too late, the children... But I can still save you! I can.. I can still..."

His lips curved into a weak parody of a smile as tears rolled down the sloping planes of her face, dripping onto his skin, his head twitching briefly to one side as though trying to shake it. "No.. no, my Emara, my.. my heart.. I am..." He coughed, blood pouring out of his mouth in a crimson tide, then groaned in agony. "..I am.. too far gone.. but at least I saw you.. one last.. time..."

"No no no.. Farkas, Farkas no, don't.. you.. you can't leave me!" Her forehead pressed to his, eyes squeezing tightly shut against the onslaught of tears that just wouldn't  _stop_. She felt him shudder in her arms, and then.. the labored sound of his breathing ceased.

Her world shrank down to that single moment as her eyes snapped open and she stared into his lifeless gaze.

Her fingers twitched, spasmed, clutched at him and  _shook_ , as though that would mend his mangled body and breathe the spark of life back into him.

It was useless.

What was left of her sanity, and her very soul, broke. She sobbed once, twice, then raised her face to the unbearably sunny skies and Shouted her anguish for all of Tamriel to know.

Something heard her.

Whether it was the touch of the Divines, seeking to repair what was left of their Champion in the defense of their world, or some darker knowledge from the planes of Oblivion, none would likely ever know - certainly Emara never would, and she would never question it. But in that moment, the very fabric of space and time bent itself around the tortured Dragonborn. Light and sound rushed past her in a tide more powerful than any ocean's course; the sun reversed its path through the sky, again and again, moving too quickly for her to even consider counting.

And then it stopped.

When reality solidified around her once more, she was struck dumb; there was no crippled, empty body of Farkas in her arms, no blood-churned mud around the former shapes of her children; Rayya was calmly feeding her mare, who neighed happily in her stall; the corpse of the Giant who had destroyed her world was nowhere to be seen.

Her breaths came quickly, shallowly, and her vision darkened at the edges, before she drew her lower lip between her teeth and bit down; the pain cleared her sight, the taste of blood in her mouth mingling with the remnants of bile, and her gaze flew to the skies. It was night. The constellations above were familiar, welcome; the phase of the moon was.. utterly bewildering. She knew this night - it was Fredas, the 17th of Midyear. The day before she'd left for Markarth.

"My Thane?" Emara jerked, and rose unsteadily, turning to face Rayya with a look like she'd just seen the end of the world. "Are you well, Thane?"

"..Rayya." The word was a struggle, her voice hoarse and scratchy; she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, spat out a mouthful of blood, and staggered forward. "Yes, I.. I'm.. fine." She neared the housecarl, and something hard entered her face, before she placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. "..You have served me well, Rayya. I thank you. But my time in Falkreath Hold has come to an end - you should return to Jarl Siddgeir. Sell my house, if you wish."

Rayya looked stunned, but before she could argue, Emara had hurried past her and moved into the house like a woman possessed. Farkas and the children looked up sharply from the table they were clearing when the door swung violently open, presenting the haggard, tear-streaked face of the woman who held them all together. "..Love? Is something the matter?"

"Pack everything we absolutely need and be ready to leave at dawn. We're moving to Markarth." Normally soft-spoken and tender with her family, the hard, no-nonsense tone that was heard from Emara then stunned all three. Lucia and Alesan shared an uncertain look, then glanced at Farkas, who gestured for them to set down their plates.

"Go to your room, children." They hurriedly did as they were told, closing the doors behind them, and leaving their adoptive parents alone in the dining hall. Farkas didn't hesitate a moment; he strode across the room and gathered his wife, always so strong and courageous, into his arms. When she crumpled into his embrace, gripping his upper arms with a violent shiver, he knew something terrible had happened to her. But how? She had only gone outside an hour ago, maybe even less. He stroked her back, held her close, and murmured into the tangled mass of her hair. "What happened?"

She shook her head, her voice muffled against is chest. "I couldn't even begin to explain it." Her face tilted up, just enough for her to look into his eyes. Alive. Not dead. He was still  _alive_. She still had time. "It's not safe here. We'll go to Markarth, at least until I can gather enough money to buy a better house - perhaps in Solitude. Proudspire Manor is large enough for all of us, and safe.  _Safe_." She whispered the last word, before her face hardened, and she hissed in sudden anger. "I won't let a Giant slaughter my family! Not. Again."

 _Not again?_  Farkas turned those words over and over in his head. Something had happened. Something she couldn't put into words. She was the Dragonborn - she was somehow outside the rules of this world. He would just have to accept that. After a few silent moments, he nodded. "All right, love. I trust your judgement."

She slumped against him, and sighed. She'd managed to save them. Nothing would ever hurt her family again.

Nothing.


End file.
